A Single Shade of Steele
by MissLauraGrey
Summary: The entire trilogy from Christian Grey's POV. Quite literally. Ana Steele/Christian Grey pairing. M rating. You know the rest ...
1. IntroductionAuthor Note

Introduction.

_Please note: This is one massive author's note. I put it in a seperate 'chapter' because it's important for me to tell you all these details before you begin to read, but also because I don't want to take away from the story that you're hopefully about to read. _

_This idea came to me after I'd finished all three books. I guess you could say that I didn't really want them to end. I felt like yes, we'd heard Anastasia's events, everything from her point of view, but Christian - who really was the main character - didn't get his full chance to shine. _

_Christian Grey was a very complex character to me when I first started reading. I don't dispute the fact that yes, although when EL James wrote him, she was basing him around Edward Cullen, but he became somewhat more than that to me. He was his own individual character. I loved the prospect of there being more to someone than meets the eye. I loved that idea throughout this book that we don't know what anyone's like behind closed doors. I really wanted to explore that. _

_I researched online one night, and found a couple of sites mentioning that they wanted EL James to write the books from Christian's point of view. I'd already seen interviews when she'd said she'd maybe consider it one day. One day is too far away from me, and that's where this comes in. _

_I'm not a professional writer/author. I don't do this for a living, it's not my life. It's just a hobby. _

_So, this is the three books, from Christian's point of view. It's something that I took a lot of time to write. I had to continuously return to the original three books to take the dialogue, the actions and the reactions behind them. Every little facial expression that Anastasia didn't understand with Christian, I had to make a plausible reason for it being there. A train of thought that he was following. _

_Not to mention, I relate far more to Anastasia than I ever will to Christian. So, I had to do a lot of research into the business world so I sounded halfway realistic. I had to research helicopter controls, and psychiatry and (probably the most interesting of them all), the world of BDSM. I had to sound like I knew what I was talking about - which I think was the biggest struggle for me. _

_I hope that it pays off. _

_I really hope that none of you find it too tedious. Because after all, you've already read the books. You know how it goes, and there's no suspense on how it ends. What I do include, however, is scenes that you won't (obviously) see in the original trilogy. Things like, the inside of GEH, the scene where Ana is kidnapped by Jack, but Christian tracks her down, Christian tracking her down on the night when she drunk-dialled him, his conversation with Elena whilst she was in Georgia, etc. Things that not even Anastasia bore witness to. So, I hope that makes it more interesting. _

_Updates will not be regular. I can only apologise for that. Originally, I planned to write the entire story from Christian's POV before I posted any of it, so I could tweak details and such before it went live. But ... well, I'm too impatient and I want to hear your opinions on it. I'm going to attempt to update as quickly as possible, and write a new chapter before I post one, so I'm always a couple ahead, incase I'm really struggling. But please be patient with me. Please! _

_I also hope that I play the part of Christian well. I really don't want to ruin a wonderfully interesting character by divulging all his secrets, but after writing this, I can safely say that I love him just that little bit more. _

_Lastly, a disclaimer. I don't obviously own any of the characters in this book (unless I've made them up, and you guys haven't heard of them before), I don't own the storyline, or the events, or the places. I'm simply flipping the coin on a book (or three, actually) that have already been written. The original belongs to EL James. I just wanted to have a little fun - after all, isn't that the purpose of Fanfiction? _

_Read on ... _


	2. Prologue

_"Anything else, Mr. Grey?"_

_"Just these items," I mutter. Shit, I'm out of time, and I still don't know if I'm going to see her again. I have to know whether there's a hope in hell she might consider what I have in mind. How can I ask her? Am I ready to take on a new submissive, one who knows nothing? Shit. She's going to need substantial training. I groan inwardly at all the interesting possibilities this presents ... Fuck me, getting there is going to be half the fun. Will she even be interested? Or do I have this all wrong? _

_She heads back to the cashier's desk and rings up my purchases, all the while keeping her gaze cast down. Look at me, damn it! I want to see her beautiful blue eyes again and gauge what she's thinking. _

_Finally, she raises her head. "That will be forty-three dollars, please." _

_Is that all? _

_"Would you like a bag?" she asks, slipping into sales clerk mode as I pass her my Amex._

_"Please, Anastasia." Her name - a beautiful name for a beautiful girl - rolls off my tongue. She packs the items briskly and efficiently into the carrier. This is it. I have to go. "You'll call me if you want me to do the shoot?" _

_She nods as she hands back my charge card. _

_"Good. Until tomorrow, perhaps." I can't just leave. I have to let her know I'm interested. "Oh, and Anastasia? I'm glad Miss Kavanagh couldn't do the interview." Delighting in her stunned expression, I sling the bag over my shoulder and saunter out the store. Yes, against my better judgement, I want her. Now I have to wait ... fucking wait ... again. _


	3. Chapter One

I open the door to the suite I'm staying in, leaving Taylor standing in the hallway, on the phone to his daughter. She's sick, as far as I can tell, and he's worried. I have to mentally remind myself that Taylor doesn't just exist to follow me around and do my errands.

I dump my purchases on the bed, glancing down at the carrier bag with Clayton's emblem scrawled across the front. For the first time in a long time, I'm utterly confounded by a woman. Should I call her? I've only been away from the store for a couple of hours - she's going to think I'm crazy. I snort in amusement. _If only she knew ... _Which reminds me.

I lift my cell phone and call Flynn. He answers on the second ring.

"Christian?"

"Hey, John. I need to cancel tonight's appointment. I've been caught up with something." _Like a woman who I'm hoping is going to let me fuck her into submission. _Jesus. If Flynn knew I'd gotten Welch to track her down, and then chased after her, he'd be locking me up in a psychiatric hospital.

He pauses only briefly, but I can hear his smile through the phone. "Nothing bad, I hope. No problem, Christian. Just call me when you want to reschedule." I agree to do just that, but I'm barely off the phone for a second, when it rings again.

It's Elliot, my big brother. He's all jovial and excited about some football game he's watching, and I can't help but think of how different we are. Yes, we're both adopted, and therefore there's no genetic similarities between us. But even so, growing up in the same house, with the same ethos, and yet ... we're so very different.

_He didn't have the fucked up childhood that I had,_ I think sourly. Wow, it's been a while since I've thought of her. The crack whore.

"So, where are you?" he asks me out-of-the-blue, jerking me from my wayward thoughts.

"Portland."

"What the fuck are you doing in Portland?"

"Business."

He's quiet for a moment. "We could go fishing?"

"Did you miss the part about me being in Portland?" I ask dryly. I lift my eyes to the door as Taylor enters quietly, nodding reassuringly. He seems more positive - things with his daughter must be okay.

"I could come down? Come on, Bro. When was the last time we done something together? You barely ever come over for family dinners. Mia said if you're not there when she comes home next week, she's going to cut off your balls."

"Are you repeating her verbatim?"

"Yes." I nod and laugh. That _does_ sound like something Mia would say. I look at the Claytons bag once more, and frown. Chances are, if Anastasia decides she does want any sort of photoshoot from me, she's hardly going to decide overnight. Having Elliot visit could be a good way to waste some time waiting for her to call. _If_ she decides to call. I push away the errant thought, and sigh.

"Okay. I'm staying at the Heathman. Call me when you land, and I'll get Taylor to pick you up."

"You got it." He hangs up and I place the phone on the bedside table, getting up to walk towards the window. Portland is very beautiful. Quieter than Seattle. I don't know if I could stay here permanently, but it's a welcome detour from GEH and boardrooms, and Olivia, or whatever the fuck her name is, and her unbelievably annoying presence.

* * *

I'm fresh out the shower when my cell phone rings once again. I've sent Taylor on some more errands, and I've ordered room service. I've contracts to look over and write up, but my heart's really not in the work.

"Grey," I answer boredly. I'm expecting Andrea. Or someone who's wanting to discuss work.

"Err ... Mr. Grey? It's Anastasia Steele," is what I receive instead. She sounds nervous and quiet, and uncertain, and the sound of her voice brings a smile to my face. She called? I'm mildly surprised, but pleased.

"Miss Steele. How nice to hear from you," I reply. I hear her breathing hitch, and my grin gets wider. I knew I affected her. Well, it's time to reel her in.

"Err ... we'd like to go ahead with the photo-shoot for the article. Tomorrow, if that's okay. Where would be convenient for you, Sir?" I close my eyes as her delicious voice, uttering the simple word, 'Sir' reaches my ears. For someone who's not actually a submissive, she's already doing a damn well good job at it.

"I'm staying at the Heathman in Portland. Shall we say, nine-thirty tomorrow morning?"

"Okay, we'll see you there." She sounds a few octaves higher, and breathy. I stick my tongue between my teeth. She's stroking my ego. Though it's not my ego that's feeling the effects.

"I look forward to it, Miss Steele," I finish. She hangs up, and I beam. I don't think I've smiled this widely in a long time. She's just made my night. And it's with a lighter heart that I turn to the contracts laid out across my desk.

* * *

It's a little before nine when I return from my morning run. I jump in the shower quickly, deciding on some toast and an omelet for my breakfast, regardless of how nervous I am to be seeing Miss Steele again, so quickly. I feel like a teenager, my hormones racing all over the place, and it annoys me just how much of a reaction she has on me.

Nobody else makes my heart race this much, I think idly, as I wander down the corridor where the photo-shoot is being held. I try to picture her from the store yesterday, but the anticipation of seeing her now, is too much, and my mind draws a blank.

"Jose! Will you watch those cables! The last thing we need is for him to break his neck!"

I enter the room, scanning the area quickly. A tall, slim, young lady is standing in the centre of the room, issuing instructions to everyone. She's pretty, with long, strawberry-blonde hair that reaches right down past her behind. She's clearly the one in charge, I notice. Miss Kavanagh, perhaps? She has the same colourings as her father.

The man she's speaking with - or rather, shouting at - assesses me cooly. He's well-built, tan, with dark hair and dark eyes. He's handling the camera, and then there's his 'assistant'. I use the term loosely, because he doesn't look like he knows his ass from his elbow.

And there she is. She doesn't even notice me at first, and I take the brief moment to observe her, when she's not blushing furiously. She's wearing jeans again - shit. She looks damn good in jeans. Especially her ass. I'm never an ass man. And she's wearing some tight t-shirt with a band slogan on the front. Her long, dark hair is tucked beneath her ears as she bends to pick something up off the floor. And then she notices me, and the flush comes back, and once again, she's shell-shocked. It pleases me just how nervous she is around me. It's a good start.

"Miss Steele, we meet again," I extend my hand out to her first, and she takes it, her skin sliding against mine. I stifle the groan, and I feel the electricity reverberate in my groin. I'm only shaking her fucking hand! Her blush darkens, and she lowers her gaze to the floor. She feels it too?

"Mr. Grey, this is Katherine Kavanagh," she mutters, turning to the pretty redhead I noticed first. Her reaction is completely different. She looks me straight in the eye as she shakes my hand firmly, and I'm suddenly very sure of who's calling the shots today.

"The tenacious Miss Kavanagh. How do you do?" I enjoy my dig. She's pestered me for so long. But she doesn't falter, and I can't help but add another comment. "I trust you're feeling better? Anastasia said you were unwell last week." She nods politely.

"I'm fine, thank you, Mr. Grey," she replies firmly. She steps back, her eyes still assessing me, and I get the uneasy feeling she can see right through my plan for Miss Steele. I meet her gaze head on, unwilling to be sidetracked. My impassive gaze works, and she utters some thank you for agreeing to take part. Anastasia moves on towards the young boy.

"This is Jose Rodriguez, our photographer," she states proudly, awarding him with a pat on the back. He smiles back at her, and I narrow my gaze. He fucking likes her! Is there no end to the list of admirers this girl has?

"Mr. Grey," he nods at me.

"Mr. Rodriguez," I return in the same tone. I watch his assistant move around, and decide to have a little fun. "Where would you like me?" Sometimes I enjoy patronising. Mr. Rodriguez looks as though he's put out by my question, but Miss Kavanagh steps between us, proving me right and taking the lead.

"Mr. Grey - if you could sit here, please? Be careful of the lighting cables," she shoots a glare in Jose's direction, and the thought passes briefly that I could learn to like her, "And then we'll do a few standing too."

The photoshoot isn't too long. I sit for a while, switching seats and directions and poses. I reluctantly admit that I underestimated the boys talent, as I see the photos flash up on the computer behind him. He's good. Several times throughout the process, I catch Anastasia looking at me. Sometimes it's just a quick glance, and a frown. Other times, I catch her downright staring. Admiring me. I meet her gaze head on, and I feel the same crackle of electricity between us. There really is something about her...

By the time we're finished, I've already decided to ask her out for coffee. I have a couple of scheduled meetings, and fuck knows when Elliot's arriving, but it's nothing that can't be rearranged, or reorganised. I catch her in a brief moment of solitude, and she looks surprised when I ask. I thought I'd been a lot more obvious about my feelings - the thought distracts me.

"Will you walk with me, Miss Steele?" I ask. She bites her lip in that way that drives me crazy, and turns towards her friends, before nodding. We exit into the corridor, and I dismiss Taylor, who's looking expectantly at me for instruction. He begins to wander down the corridor away from us. I brace myself. "I wondered if you would join me for coffee this morning?"

Her mouth actually drops open. And she just stares at me for what feels like an eternity, before she frowns. "I have to drive everyone home."

"Taylor!" I shout, not taking my eyes off her. Her frown deepens as my secondhand man turns around and begins to walk towards us. My vow to not treat him like a slave escapes my mind as he reaches us. "Please can you drive the photographer, his assistant, and Miss Kavanagh back home?"

"Certainly, Sir," he replies.

She flashes a look at Taylor and then turns to me again. "Um - Mr. Grey, err - this really ... look, Taylor doesn't have to drive them home. I'll swap vehicles with Kate, if you give me a moment."

I grin at her and she looks momentarily side-tracked. Women that make an effort go a long way with me. I like people who try to please me. She's barely in there for five minutes before she returns, looking decidedly more confident.

"Okay, let's do coffee." I smile at her once more, and together we make our way down the corridor, away from the room, towards the elevators. She seems apprehensive again, and I turn to her, suddenly wanting to know more about the enigma standing beside me. This is why I suggested coffee after all.

"How long have you known Katherine Kavanagh?" She smiles suddenly, and all the tension leaves her body. They must be close.

"Since our freshman year. She's a good friend."

I want to say how much she seems more like a mother hen, than a best friend, but I hold my tongue and make an non-committal noise. We reach the elevators and I press the call button. The doors open and we're left looking at a young couple, making out. Anastasia clears her throat awkwardly, her face scarlet, and the two of them - finally noticing us - jump apart guiltily.

Never has there been an elevator journey so awkward, as the four of us crowd into the space. I'm secretely glad that the elevator was already occupied. I don't think my precious control could've held on any longer, with her and me in a confined space. The doors open on our floor and we exit.

"What is it about elevators?" And I hardly realise I've uttered the words aloud.

The coffee shop isn't far from the hotel. On the several occasions I've travelled to Portland, it's always been my favourite. The staff are friendly, yet concise - and I've yet to receive something I didn't order. I like that it's never too busy in here. And the dark wood furnishings, and old paintings make me feel .. at home. I smile, thinking of our family home in Seattle where my parents still stay. Yes, it reminds me of home.

"Why don't you choose a table, while I get the drinks," I suggest. "What would you like?"

She barely even pauses to consider it. "I'll have English Breakfast tea, bag out."

_Tea?_ "No coffee?"

"I'm not keen on coffee." The thought brings a smile to my face. She still accepted my offer, regardless of the fact that she doesn't like coffee. She definitely likes me. In all honesty, I've yet to find a woman I couldn't charm - except for Mia who doesn't take my shit anymore. She just rolls her eyes, which amuses me. Even Elena falls for it occasionally. I, again, wonder what she'd make of Anastasia. Something tells me they wouldn't get on, and I can't put my finger on why.

"Anything to eat?"

"No, thank you." She turns to find a seat, and picks one by the window whilst I stand in the queue. The look I receive from the barista as I tell him about the tea, is a Kodak moment. I didn't think there was anyone in the entirety of Seattle who didn't drink coffee.

I take the tray to the table, to find her staring out the window, completely lost in thought. She's biting her lip again, and it sends my libido into overdrive. Why the fuck does she keep doing that? Is it on purpose?

"Penny for your thoughts?" I ask, to distract myself. I take a seat opposite her and our knees bump together. She blushes. Again. I hand over the tea and take my own muffin, pulling it apart. "Your thoughts?" I repeat, when she makes no move to speak.

"This is my favourite tea," she says softly, with a small smile. Something tells me that wasn't what she was going to say. She places the teabag into the water for barely a second, and then takes it out. She's so strange. I don't know why I like that.

"I like my tea black and weak," she tries to explain.

"I see. Is he your boyfriend?" _Wait, what?_ Fuck. I said that out loud. I need to stop repeating my thoughts. She looks up at me, startled and confused.

"Who?"

I want to laugh. "The photographer. Jose Rodriguez."

"No." The relief I feel shocks me. "Jose's a good friend of mine, that's all. Why did you think he was my boyfriend?"

"The way you smiled at him, and he at you."

"He's more like family," she states simply. I feel the relief wash over me again. Well, that's that then. You don't fuck family. I think of yesterday, at Claytons.

"And the boy I met yesterday, at the store. He's not your boyfriend?"

She shakes her head once again, and I know I'm making things awkward. She seems unsure as to where this is going. "No. Paul's just a friend. I told you yesterday." _Did she? When? _"Why do you ask?"

"You seem nervous around men," I reply, and I must admit, I'm pleased with how quickly I conjure up that lie. She squirms in her seat, uncomfortable.

"I find you intimidating."

I take a deep breath. Well, that sums me up pretty accurately, I'd say. I like that I intimidate her. It sets the tone for the future. "You should find me intimidating. You're very honest." She looks down into her tea, and I frown. How can I tell what she's thinking if I can't see her expression? "Please don't look down. I like to see your face." Obediantly, she raises her head and looks at me. She seems uncertain. "It gives me some sort of clue as to what you might be thinking," I continue on. "You're a mystery, Miss Steele."

This shocks her. "There's nothing mysterious about me."

"I think you're very self-contained." She furrows her brow, as though this concept is completely new to her. "Except when you blush, of course, which is often. I just wish I knew what you were blushing about." I've barely finished my sentence when he face turns the colour of a beetroot. I smile.

"Do you always make such personal observations?" She sounds vaguely irritated. Or maybe just curious.

"I hadn't realised I was. Have I offended you?" Shit. I've done something wrong already. I don't know where to step around her. She's completely new territory for me. But she shakes her head and I breathe a sigh of relief. "Good."

"But you're very high-handed."

I am? Yes. I guess so. I feel mildly ashamed of how I've spoken to her, and try to explain without sounding like a pompous ass. "I'm used to getting my own way, Anastasia. In all things."

"I don't doubt it. Why haven't you asked me to call you by your first name?" She looks as though she wants to kick herself for her own question, but doesn't retract it. I consider her question. Anyone who calls me 'Christian' knows me. They know my story, they know my past. Anyways, how am I supposed to exert my power?

"The only people who use my given name are my family, and a few close friends. That's the way I like it," I explain. It's a half-truth. Or a half-lie. Whatever. I don't know her and I don't owe her any explanation. She waits a moment and then she looks annoyed. I'm guessing it wasn't the answer she wanted, but I don't want her to dwell on this. Plus, she won't be calling me Christian when I'm fucking her, will she? She'll be all 'yes Sir' or 'no Sir' or 'please Sir'. I want to move her off this conversation.

"Are you an only child?"

I know the answer already, but it's a welcoming distraction. Unfortunately, she's using one-word answers.

"Tell me about your parents," I try again.

"My mom lives in Georgia with her new husband, Bob. My stepdad lives in Montesano."

"Your father?"

"My father died when I was a baby." Oh, shit! How did I forget that? I want to kick myself, but she doesn't look offended or hurt. "I don't remember him," she explains.

"And your mother remarried?" She snorts derisively.

"You could say that." I want to groan. She's infuriating. This would be easier if she decided to say more than one sentence at a time. The more I know, the more she can learn to trust me. The closer I get to fucking her. It's that simple.

"You're not giving much away, are you?"

"Neither are you."

What does she want to know about me? Hasn't she already asked enough questions? I recall her acute embarrassment as she asked me if I was gay. "You've interviewed me once already, and I can recollect some quite probing questions then."

She looks horrified. But it does the trick, and she begins to speak. "My mom is wonderful. She's an incurable romantic. She's currently on her fourth husband." I obediantly raise my eyebrow. I know this already. "I miss her," she carries on. "She has Bob now. I just hope he can keep an eye on her and pick up the pieces when her harebrained schemes don't go as planned." For the first time, I see her really smile. She's got small, perfectly-straight, white teeth. Her voice soothes me; I don't want her to stop talking.

"Do you get along with your stepfather?"

"Of course. I grew up with him. He's the only father I know." She obviously has a soft spot in her heart for him, and I think this might be the key to her opening up.

"What's he like?"

"Ray? He's ... taciturn." _Or, maybe not. She either really doesn't like talking about herself, or I make her feel really uncomfortable._

"That's it?" She says nothing. "Taciturn like his step-daughter."

"He likes soccer - European soccer especially - and bowling, and fly-fishing, and making furniture. He's a carpenter. Ex-army."

"You lived with him?"

"Yes. My mom met Husband Number Three when I was fifteen. I stayed with Ray." Why would she choose staying with her step-father than staying with her mother? It doesn't make sense to me, considering how fondly she spoke of her mother, and considering that her and her step-father are not even blood-related. I broach the question out loud and she blushes again.

"Husband Number Three lived in Texas. My home was Montesano And ... you know, my mom was newly-married." She trails off, but she looks pensieve. There's something about this third husband, I can tell. I want to press her, but I don't want to scare her off. She obviously felt uncomfortable around him, and the thought cools my blood. Suddenly, she sits up straight and fixes me with a determined look.

"Tell me about your parents."

I should've expected this, I realise. After all, she's inquisitive. I try to play it off. I don't want her to get too close. "My dad's a lawyer, my mom's a paeditrician. They live in Seattle." There. That's vague enough. There's hundreds of lawyers and paeditrician's in Seattle.

"What do your siblings do?"

"Elliot's in construction, and my little sister is in Paris, studying cookery under some renowned French chef." _Working for some asshole,_ I want to add, but I don't.

"I hear Paris is lovely," she murmurs, and the tone of her voice catches my attention. She looks dreamily out of the window, as if the Eiffle Tower is sitting right there in the parking lot.

I nod in agreement. "It's beautiful. Have you been?"

She shakes her head sadly. "I've never left mainland USA." I don't know why this surprises me, but it does. I'm thrown by how badly I want to take her there, just to see the look of wonder on her face. She casts her eyes down once more.

"Would you like to go?"

"To Paris?" I nod. "Of course, but it's England that I'd really like to visit."

"Because?"

"It's the home of Shakespeare, Austen, the Bronte sisters, Thomas Hardy. I'd like to see the places that inspired those people to write such wonderful books." _Ah yes, her love of English literature. _I briefly recall her saying that at my interview. The hearts and flowers shit. Her bringing it up, makes me realise just how much I'm taking away from her. She deserves to be with someone who can give her all that crap. Who can love her like her heroines. Who can take her to Paris, and England, and wherever the hell else she wants to go, and that someone isn't me. She bewilders me, and astounds me, and I'm more than positive I've never felt such a deep connection with anyone so suddenly, but I'm not looking for a relationship. I'm looking for someone who will ask 'how high?' when I tell them to jump.

She glances at her watch suddenly. "I'd better go. I have to study."

"For your exams?"

"Yes. They start Tuesday."

"Where's Miss Kavanagh's car?"

"In the hotel parking lot."

"I'll walk you back." I mentally castigate myself - again. I just can't leave her alone, can I?

We exit the coffee shop, and I take her hand, enjoying how it feels in mine. She's quiet, thinking something through, it would seem.

"Do you always wear jeans?" I ask, glancing down at her legs. She frowns, but shrugs.

"Mostly."

_Good._ I like her in jeans. She looks relaxed and casual, but still hot as hell. I think if she were mine, I'd make her wear jeans all the time. She seems even more confused suddenly.

"Do you have a girlfriend?"

The question is so surprising that I stop in the middle of the street and gaze down at her. She looks mortified at having voiced the question aloud, and I can't help but smile.

"No, Anastasia. I don't do the girlfriend thing."

This confuses her more. I want to explain myself, but I can't. If I do, she'll run for the hills. Hell, she'll probably run for the hills anyway, but at least if she does - I can get her to sign an NDA and she can't tell a soul. I'm so tied up in my own world that I barely register that she's walking away from me, until I notice the bike to her left.

"Shit, Ana!" Everything happens in slow motion. I pull on her arm, and she falls backwards into me, completely oblivious until the cyclist scoots past. He's so close, and the goddamn wanker is going the wrong way up the street. It's too late when I realise just how intimately and close I'm holding her, and that she's gazing up at me, completely in shock.


	4. Chapter Two

_Author Note: Told you guys it would take me forever to update. In my defence, I ended up doing two chapters at once by accident, because I couldn't remember when the next chapter started, so it seemed to take me ages to write/edit/tweak parts of it. I do apologise! Thanks so much for supporting this story - to the people who have reviewed, you're fantastic. This also applies to the people who are following/favouriting the story/me. Anyways, to apologise for my delay, I'm posting two chapters at once - enjoy! _

* * *

I can smell her shampoo in the air, and I swear I've never wanted to kiss someone as badly as I want to kiss her. I reign in my control. I can't do this. I shouldn't be doing this! The thought of her getting the wrong idea about me, pulls me back to Earth. No. I have to keep my distance.

She doesn't move away, doesn't try and hold herself up. She's just gazing up at me, with her fathomless blue eyes. I'm so close. If I leant forward fractionally, I'd be kissing her.

No. _No._ I close my eyes, take a deep breath, and harden my resolve. "Anastasia, you should steer clear of me. I'm not the man for you." I can barely look at her, as she blinks back at me, the spell between us broken. She looks offended - she looks hurt. I feel like such a shit. "Breathe, Anastasia. Breathe. I'm going to stand you up and let you go," I tell her. She barely moves as I set her onto her own two feet again. She looks devastated.

"I've got this," she finally says, after what feels like an eternity. Her voice is cold. "Thank you."

"For what?"

"For saving me." And in those three words, I suddenly long to have her back in my arms, to hold her and kiss her. But I screwed it up with my stupid practicality, and no doubt, she'll never want to see me after this, so I mutter some stupid insult at the cyclist in the hopes that it makes her smile. It doesn't. "Do you want to come and sit down in the hotel for a moment?" I offer weakly.

She shakes her head, and turns, crossing the road ahead of me. Her hair flies out behind her, and she crosses her arms over her chest. I get the feeling it's to protect her from something. Maybe me.

"Thanks for the tea, and doing the photo-shoot," she says quietly. She can't even meet my gaze. And I _know_ I've hurt her. I'm such a shit, I repeat in my head like a mantra.

"Anastasia ... I ..." There are no words. She looks up at me, and I wish she hadn't. All I can see is the pain of my rejection floating around in her gaze. She blinks it back and waits, but I don't open my mouth again.

"What, Christian?" What a good time to use my name, I muse. Way to kick a man when he's down. I think of something to say, to let her know that I care.

"Good luck with your exams," is literally all I can think of. She looks confused and then hurt, and then ... angry?

"Thanks." Could there be any more sarcasm in her voice? "Goodbye, Mr. Grey." And she disappears out of sight.

I stand on the sidewalk for several moments, waiting and waiting. Willing her to turn back. Willing myself to run after her. But to say what? Because what she wants from me is a relationship. And what I want from her is a submissive. They don't coincide together. It's one or the other.

Eventually, I turn back into the hotel, resigned. I'm not even sure what occured between us both today. Her feelings seemed to come from nowhere. Or did I just not see them before? I make my way up to my hotel room, but I can't erase her from my mind. And I can't erase the look of those pale blue eyes blinking at me sadly before she turned and disappeared out of sight.

* * *

"What are we looking for again?" Elliot gripes from roughly three aisles over. I can't see him so it's a guess, but he sounds bored. I browse through the shelves of books in front of me, touching the binders and reading the authors names. All the books in here smell ... old. Not just old, but musky too. However, as I'm assured, this is the place for first editions, and with a feeling I don't want to dwell on, I continue down the aisle until I find what I'm looking for.

"Got it," I call out, and hear Elliot approaching.

"Tess of the d'Ubervilles," he reads over my shoulder, in disbelief. "_This_ is what you were looking for? Didn't really take you as a Thomas Hardy fan."

"This isn't for me," I tell, without offering an explanation. There are all three volumes here, and I pull them out into my arms. Jeez, they're heavy. I open the binding and look inside for the few clues that identify it as a first edition. Dates on the copyright page, 'first edition' stamped across the page. I ponder if I should purchase them or not. This could give the wrong idea about me. This is almost hearts and flowers, and that is _not_ something I want to encourage. But I still can't get Miss Steele's big, blue eyes out my mind, and I picture her opening the packaging and her face brightening with a smile all for me. And with that image, I make my way to the cash desk.

"Would you like them packaged, sir?" The elderly man behind the counter asks me. I nod and pick up the small card that accompanies it, writing a note that comes to me from nowhere. A quote. I'm not even sure how it comes to my mind - maybe it's been there all along, in the dark corners of my brain where I forget things like my mum and dad's anniversary, and the lyrics to my old favourite Metallica songs. When he's packaged it all, I slip the note in the box and he wraps it again in another, sturdier box and offers to have it sent. I pay for them, ignoring Elliot when he chokes at the price, and make my way outside, into the sunshine.

"Who were they for?"

"Nobody. I think we should go hiking now, before it begins to rain." Elliot glances up at the clouds and nods.

"Okay." Suitably distracted, he walks ahead of me as I smirk at his retreating back. It's unnerving how easy it is to change the topic of discussion sometimes.

* * *

I'm exhausted, is the only thought crossing my mind as I retreat from the soothing heat of the shower. I'm bone-achingly tired. All my muscles are tensed, I have a sore back and sore feet, and all I want to do is sleep. It's only after ten, but the combination of exercise, fresh air, and a large meal has made me replete and sleepy. I'm hoping that tonight, my thoughts won't be plagued by _her_ but it's a fruitless hope, I know - regardless of how hard I try to cling to it.

I check my phone out of habit, but aside from a few telephone calls from Ros, there's nothing particular. I'm in the middle of making myself comfortable on my bed, when my phone rings, startling me. Nobody would call at this time, surely. Unless it's Ros again. I check caller ID, but it's not one that I recognise. Or that my phone recognises, anyways. It's Portland's area code.

It's her. I know it. I wonder if I should answer it, then groan when I realise what kind of hold she has on me. She must have the books by now, I realise. I lift the handset to my ear.

"Anastasia?"

"Why did you send me the books?" She's shouting - I have to hold the phone away from my ear briefly. It's noisy in the background and she sounds slurred. I check the signal but it's fine.

"Anastasia, are you okay? You sound strange." Why is she calling me? Is she hurt? She sounds so far away.

"I'm not the strange one, you are!" She shouts again. The edge to her voice tells me she's had a little too much to drunk. It makes me feel ... angry. But amused. I imagine her being one of these women who get tipsy on a glass of wine.

"Anastasia, have you been drinking?"

"What's it to you?" Her defiant voice reaches me as something slams on her side.

"I'm ..." _Angry. Amused. Weirdly aroused. _"Curious. Where are you?" A thought pulls at me. I can go and get her. Yes, that's not stalker-gone-wild. I'm not going to harm her, just encourage her into returning home. So she doesn't get hurt. Besides, I want to see her.

"In a bar."

"Which bar?"

"A bar in Portland." _Wow, helpful,_ I snort. An unpleasant thought occurs to me.

"How are you getting home?"

"I'll find a way."

Which means 'I have no idea, we'll see how drunk we are at the end of the night and determine it then'. It worries me. If she was my submissive, she wouldn't be drinking to excess like this. Drunk women are a massive no-no for me. I've dealt with that enough. What can I do? I can't order her to stay in. "Which bar are you in?" I try again, oozing impatience.

"Why did you send me the books, Christian?"

I ignore her. "Anastasia, where are you, tell me now." There's a brief pause where I think she's going to relent, and then out of nowhere, giggling. Girly giggling.

"You're so ... domineering." _Oh, fuck._ I close my eyes and think of anything that will stop me turning up at this bar she's at with a raging hard-on. Anything. Apples. Bananas. Tiles. Receipts. A toothbrush. Nothing works. I clear my throat.

"Ana, so help me, where the fuck are you?"

She giggles again. "I'm in Portland...'s a long way from Seattle." She sounds quieter now. Sad, maybe. She doesn't know I'm still here, and I can use that to my favour.

"Where in Portland?"

"Goodnight, Christian."

"Ana!" The line goes dead and I curse. Nobody teases me and then doesn't follow through. I'm turned on and fuming - not a good combination. I hit speed dial and call a number that I seem to call far too frequently.

"Mr Grey," Welch answers on the first ring. He sounds tired. "How can I help?"

"I need you to trace a phone. Anastasia Steele. I got you to do a background check on her a couple of days ago?"

"Okay. Two seconds..." there's a slight pause where I hear the tapping of keys on a computer, and then he comes back to the phone. "She's in downtown Portland. A bar called ... _Mistys._" He taps a few more keys. "The directions have been sent to your phone, Sir."

"Thanks, Welch. I owe you." I hang up the phone and grab the clothes I'd originally set out for tomorrow, and pulling them on. I consider Elliot across the hall, and against my better judgement, knock his door.

He's awake, completely dressed still. "You okay?"

"Wanna go out tonight?"

"Um ... sure." I turn on my heel and walk down the corridor briskly, ignoring his calls for me to wait. As I reach the elevators, I slow my walk as I hear him fumble with his hotel key. I tap in a number to my phone and give it a call.

"Hi," she answers slowly. Quietly. Sounding more sober already.

"I'm coming to get you," is all I say before I hang up the phone. At least she can't say I didn't warn her.

* * *

The club is easy to locate. The local populace have all gathered around by the door, waiting to get in. Some are smoking, some are socialising. I find a parking space, and we walk up to the door, where the bouncer lets us inside.

It's not your regular bar - more like a club. Busy, with a dancefloor that's fully occupied as of present, and small booths set up over on the other side, the bar dominating the middle of the room. It's chaotic, and I can't see Anastasia anywhere.

"Jesus Christ, the talent in here..." Elliot whoops and turns to point out a tall strawberry-blonde female who's sitting with a group of men. I narrow my gaze - it's Miss Kavanagh. She's draped all over the guy beside her. I approach them.

"Kate, is it?" I ask. Though I know the answer. She turns to me, batting her eyelashes, but then stands abruptly when she recognises me, hitting her knee off the table.

"Mr Grey?"

"I'm looking for Anastasia. She said she was here ... do you know where?"

She pauses for a moment, confused. "She went outside for some air ... round the back, I think." Her gaze settles on Elliot and he winks at her.

"Wanna dance?" He sticks his tongue between his teeth and grins cheekily. She almost melts to the floor and they head off in the direction of the dancefloor.

I take the long route around the back, passing people who are out smoking, a couple who are a little too touchy-feely in the shadows, and then finally I spot her. Or more accurately, I spot that photographer first. He's tall amongst his peers, and well-built. She's leaning against the brick wall beside him, frowning. He moves closer to her, but she tries to push him off. I move towards them, feeling my skin prickling.

"Jose, no!" She tries to push him away again, but between her own drunken state, and his strength, it's useless. I feel my spine stiffen.

"I think the lady said 'no'." Jose stiffens and turns to me. Neither of them have noticed me approaching. He takes a step away from me, and then, out of nowhere, I hear Anastasia wretch. Jose lets out a line of expletives and steps back, almost into me, to prevent his shoes from being splattered. Anastasia places one hand on the wall to steady herself, and the paleness of her skin- almost green, frightens me. I lean forward and pull back her long, brown hair, which so far has managed to escape the vomit. I scan the area, find a bench not too far along the path and lead her over to it gently, not caring that the photographer is rooted to the spot. If she weren't so sick, I would already have punched him.

"If you're going to throw up again, do it here. I'll hold you," I tell her as I steady her shoulders. She barely weighs a thing against me. She attempts to push me away, but relents and vomits three times more before she's boking but bringing nothing else up. I see the flush spread up her neck. I hand her my handkerchief and she takes it gratefully.

Jose says something, but I miss it, and it doesnt matter anyways as he wanders indoors and out of sight. For a brief moment, neither of us say a word, and Anastasia finally takes her own weight, sitting on the bench with her head in her hands. Her hair has fallen down over her face, without me continuing to hold it back.

"I'm sorry," she mumbles, so quietly that I strain to hear her.

A part of me enjoys her embarrassment. Maybe she shouldn't have gotten this drunk if she couldnt handle it. "What are you sorry for Anastasia?" I ask slowly, caressing her name with my tongue, willing her to feel the full weight of her embarrassment.

She takes a deep breath. "The phone call mainly. Being sick. Oh, the list is endless." Her attractive blush spreads down her neck, to the area I can see beyond her hair.

I recall a family gathering from when I was a teenager. My mother had bought champagne, wine, beer, spirits - every and any type of alcohol for entertaining our guests. It had began as a harmless prank; Elliot and myself sneaking the drinks under the table. Almost a game, to see who would get caught first. But the alcohol had been good. And it had erased everything. It had erased those horrible thoughts and nightmares, and _the anger_ that bubbled beneath the surface, cutting each breath. Carrick had found me on the bathroom floor, three hours later, completely passed out. "We've all been here, perhaps not quite as dramatically as you," I tell her, without explaining any further. That little stunt had had Elena making sure I didn't sit down for a week. The thought of my submission to her brought my rudely back to the present, and what I wanted for Ana. I hardened my voice. "It's about knowing your limits, Anastasia. I mean, I'm all for pushing limits, but really, this is beyond the pale. Do you make a habit of this behaviour?"

She stiffens beside me, anger vibrating off her in waves, and I fear I've overstepped the mark. But then she goes slack again. "No. I've never been drunk before, and right now, I have no desire to ever be again." She's barely finished her sentence when she begins to sway, and I make a grab for her, steadying her once again. I lift her slowly, and hear her release a long sigh.

"Come on, I'll take you home."

"I need to tell Kate," she whispers, lifting her head from my chest.

"My brother can tell her."

"What?"

"My brother Elliot is talking to Miss Kavanagh."

"Oh?"

"He was with me when you phoned," I explain, getting irritated. The sooner I get her home, the sooner I know she'll be safe.

"In Seattle?"

"No, I'm still at the Heathman."

"How did you find me?"

I wince. "I tracked your cell phone, Anastasia."

She leans back a little to look at me, but I keep my face as impassive as possible, daring her to comment. If she complains, I'll just politely point out that if I hadn't tracked her down, she'd still be pushing her 'friend' off of her. The thought angers me again. Someone should have a talk with him.

"Do you have a jacket or purse?" I ask slowly, realizing she's only wearing her jeans and a short-sleeved top. It's hardly winter, but the weather isn't exactly a heatwave either. And besides that, I know women. They'd carry around their kitchen sink if it would fit in their purses. There's no way she doesn't have some kind of bag with her.

"Err ... yes. I came with both. Christian, please, I need to tell Kate. She'll worry."

"If you must." I place her down on the ground, already missing the heat of her body, that citrus-y scent that clings to her skin, despite the alcohol, and musky scent of the bar. I grab her hand and pull her through the back entrance into the bar. If possible, it's noiser and busier than it was ten minutes ago. Anastasia leaves my side briefly to head towards the table I found Miss Kavanagh at earlier, and shouts something at the only man left sitting. She grabs her purse and coat from the chair and turns back to me, explaining that her friend is on the dancefloor.

Sure enough, it doesn't take me long to locate my brother, his mess of blonde hair high above the heads of the other people. I'm about to beeline my way towards him, when I notice the colour drain from Ana's face once more, and she sways on her feet. Changing route, I head towards the bar, and usher the barman over, requesting a water.

"Drink," I order her when it's placed in front of us. She scowls but lifts the glass regardless, taking a small sip. "All of it," I clarify. She rolls her eyes, making my teeth grit together, and then downs the entire glass of water, clunking it onto the bar in an angry gesture. I smirk. She's teasing me, and I must admit, I like her fire. Her insistence that she can do things for herself, that she doesnt need me bossing her around left, right and centre. On impulse, I grab her hand again, and lead her in the direction of my brother. The crowd parts for us easily, as I creep closer. Both of them are grinding against one another in the most disgusting manner I've ever seen. I grab my brother's arm, pulling him over.

"This is Anastasia, I'm taking her home. She's Kate's friend - make sure she knows that she's okay." Elliot grins and I know what he's thinking. He thinks I've scored tonight. I don't bother to correct him, as he pulls Kate closer, whispers my instructions into her ear and she gestures to Ana. Now that that's sorted ...

I swing Anastasia under my arm, attempting to make it easier for us to get off the floor. It has the opposite effect though, and when she rights herself, even under the strobing lights, I can see she's turned a different shade. I've barely time to curse before she collapses.


	5. Chapter Three

Swinging her over one shoulder, I unlock the key to my hotel room, and push the door open roughly. Taylor is standing just inside, waiting on me, and per my request, he takes Anastasia from me, and helps escort her to the bedroom. She mumbles something incoherent but doesn't stir any further than that.

Once deposited on the bed, I look down at her. Her hair is sprawled out on the pillow, all tangled and messy over her forehead. Her jeans are splattered in her own vomit. Taylor stoically says nothing, but I can't help but wonder what he must be thinking.

"Taylor, tomorrow morning, will you head down and pick up some new clothes for Miss Steele here? I think she'll be needing them." I hand him my card and he nods once more, before leaving the room and closing the door. I don't know what to do. Should I leave her here and sleep on the sofa? What if she's sick again? That was the entire reason I didn't leave her at her own apartment. I move around the bed, and frown as I decide that there's no way I can just leave her in her sick-splattered jeans. Gently, so not to wake her, or startle her, I tug them down her long legs and prop her up enough to pull off her jacket. Again, she doesn't stir, just flops listlessly against the pillows. Her socks come off last, and I pull the blanket over her body, as she cuddles against the edge of the duvet, and rolls onto her side.

I move to my side of the bed, and climb on, not daring myself to slip beneath the duvet myself. Or even undress myself. I glance over at her, and pick up my Blackberry. _Home safe,_ I text to Elliot, but receive no response. I'm hardly surprised.

* * *

Pink streaks of light filter through the blinds across the window, and stiffly, I roll onto my back. I ache everywhere, and the room is stiffilingly warm. It takes a few moments to realise where I am, to let awareness slowly creep into my mind, as I take in the furniture across the room. I'm at the Heathman in Portland. My bones no doubtedly ache because of the hiking trip, I'm so warm because I'm still fully-dressed, and I'm so tired because I spent the majority of the evening - despite all intentions - watching Anastasia sleeping, rather than trying to sleep myself. I glance over at her, surprised to find her so close. She's moved to my side of the bed, seeking my warmth and she looks ... _incredible._ All flawless skin, and dark eyelashes, and big pouty lips.

Belatedly, I realise that her right hand is sitting in the centre of my stomach, holding me to her. I peel her off, shivering at the contact. _Nobody_ touches me. Hard, hard, rock solid limit.

I glance at the time on my phone - it's a little after five in the morning, and I've received a message from Elliot, confirming that he's also home safe - just not _his_ home. Miss Kavanagh's. I roll my eyes, and slide out of the bed, grabbing my workout clothes from the unit. A great feature of the Heathman is it's high-tech gym on the ground floor, and it's beautiful views across the gardens.

The equipment is particularly deserted at this time in the morning, and I take my time on each piece, working out my frustration. The feeling of Miss Steele's hand on my abdomen is still burning a hole in my brain. Nobody has touched me there - ever. Ever. The most frightening part of it was that it didn't have the same effect on me as it has if someone so much as accidentally brushes against me. In fact, I barely noticed to begin with. I run harder on the treadmill, until I feel as though my legs are about to give out. Deciding that she'll probably be awake by now, I head towards the elevator.

* * *

Taylor has left a bag of clothes sitting on the sofa, which I grab before making me way over to the bedroom. The door is still tightly closed - the way I left it. I knock once and open the door.

She's awake - sitting up against the pillows, her dark hair curled around her face, totally and utterly bewildered. I place the bag on a chair and notice that Taylor has placed some orange juice on her bedside table. I try hard to control my grin at his humour.

"Good morning, Anastasia. How are you feeling?"

She flushes red all over, and ducks her gaze from me. "Better than I deserve." She glances up slowly, and her hands twist together nervously. "How did I get here?"

I make my way to the edge of the bed, despising how unsure of herself she is around me. I come up with a wonderful lie that disguises any thought of concern for her. "After you passed out, I didn't want to risk the leather upholstery in my car taking you all the way to your aparment. So, I brought you here."

"Did you put me to bed?"

"Yes."

"Did I throw up again?"

"No."

"Did you undress me?" she whispers, unsure.

"Yes." I quirk an eyebrow at her, and she turns the colour of a beetroot in a millisecond.

"We didn't ... ?" She trails off, and the beetroot colour turns almost darker. How?

I try not to appear offended. "Anastasia, you were comatose. Necrophilia is not my thing. I like my women sentient and receptive."

She hangs her head. "I'm so sorry."

"It was a very diverting evening. Not one that I'll forget in a while." I try not to smile, but it's useless. I don't suspect that anyone has ever warranted this much attention from me. She narrows her gaze slowly, and then her face turns into a frown.

"You didn't have to track me down with whatever James Bond stuff you're developing for the highest bidder," she says, her voice dropping like icicles. It's my turn to frown. Was she fucking serious? Who does she think I am?

I pause long enough for her to regret her words, and then I lower my voice. "Firstly, the technology to track cell phones is available over the Internet." _Not that I done that, of course._ "Secondly, my company does not invest or manufacture any kind of surveillance devices, and thirdly," I barrel on, warming to my cause, "if I hadn't come to get you, you'd probably be waking up in the photographer's bed, and from what I can remember, you weren't overly enthused about him pressing his suit."

I glare at her, my heartbeat pounding in my chest. Insulting me, fine. Insulting my company? No, fucking, way. And then she sinks her teeth into her lower lip and tries to repress her laughter. Her blue eyes twinkle at me. "Which medieval chronicle did you escape from? You sound like a courtly knight." She giggles, and the sound is infections. I try to remain angry, but it's damn-near impossible.

"Anastasia, I don't think so. Dark knight maybe," I rectify. She shouldn't idolise me right now. It's not exactly setting the right tone. I need her to know I have a dark side. With a passion I'm not sure I understand, I draw myself up and pull myself together. Time to slowly introduce her to dominant Christian. "Did you eat last night?" She pauses, looking wary, and shakes her head. I clench my jaw tightly. "You need to eat. That's why you were so ill." I blow out a breath. "Honestly, Anastasia, it's drinking rule number one." I run my hand through my hair and she almost shrinks beneath my glare - but then she narrows her gaze. I see a glimpse of the fire that amuses me so much as she pulls herself up, in a similar way that I'd done only a few minutes ago, and swallows.

"Are you going to continue to scold me?"

"Is that what I'm doing?"

"I think so."

"You're lucky I'm just scolding you." The words are falling out of my mouth before I can stop them. When she looks nothing more than curious, and asks what I mean, I can't help my honest explanation. "Well, if you were mine, you wouldn't be able to sit down for a week after the stunt you pulled yesterday. You didn't eat, you got drunk, you put yourself at risk ... I hate to think what could have happened to you."

Her scowl deepens, and her fire turns into outright indignation at my suggestion. "I would've been fine. I was with Kate."

"And the photographer?" Her face blanches as she recalls his insistence once again, but then regains the colour as quickly as it was lost. "Jose just got out of line." She shrugs non-chalantly. I try not to balk at her. How can she be so calm about that? I grind my teeth together and refrain from asking her if it's a regular occurence; men whom she trusts forcing themselves upon her. How anyone can treat a woman like that is beyond me.

"Well, the next time he gets out of line, maybe someone should teach him some manners."

"You are quite the disciplinarian."

The thought of how right she is, distracts me. "Oh Anastasia, you have no idea." I grin at her, but she does nothing more than stare at me, open-mouthed. "I'm going to have a shower. Unless you'd like to shower first?" Her stunned expression doesn't change, and I catch the way her pupils dilate at my suggestion. I can't help it - my grin practically splits my face at her reaction to me. I reach for those beautiful red lips and run my thumb along the bottom, where her teeth were not a moment before. "Breathe, Anastasia." I glance at the time over her shoulder. "Breakfast will be here in fifteen minutes. You must be famished." And without another word, I leave her in the middle of my bed, all sleep-rumpled and stunned.

* * *

I check the time on my watch as I open the door to room service. As always, they are right on time, and enter into the dining area to set up the table. I leave them to it, pulling out my phone to try and reach my brother. I'm not entirely sure what the plan is, but I'm going to have to drop Anastasia at her home.

_Do you plan on leaving Miss Kavanagh's bed sometime today? I'm going to drop Anastasia off, and then I have some meetings to attend. You're still alive, right? _

It's barely a minute before he texts me back.

_Fuck off. I'll be ready when you drop her off. Oh yeah, and fuck off. _

I can't help but grin. Winding my brother up has been my favourite hobby since I was old enough to talk.

The waiters finish with breakfast and bow out of the room quietly. I head towards the bedroom and knock on the bathroom door. The water is still running, and when I knock the door, something drops hard against the bottom of the shower. "Breakfast is here," I call to her.

"O-Okay," she stutters, her voice seemingly hesitant. I leave the bedroom and head back towards the spread of food lying across the table. It looks delicious, and my stomach rumbles. There's everything here - I wasn't entirely sure what Anastasia ate, so there's a big enough choice. Everything from pancakes, to french toast, to cereal, to regular toast, eggs, bacon. I refrain from eating anything until she's present, and pull up the morning paper, reading through the business section first. Ultimately, there's nothing very exciting going on. The stock figures are all that's changed, and all I have a chance to read before Anastasia appears. Her pale blue shirt brings out the colour of her blue eyes, and her long, brown hair is tucked beneath a towel. She looks fresh and young.

She pauses before sitting. "Crap, Kate!"

"She knows you're here, and still alive. I texted Elliot," I say. Her frame visibly relaxes as she stares at the table. "Sit." She does as I say and takes her place opposite me.

Her eyes seem to come back into focus, and she looks around the food like she doesn't know where to begin. I grab some omelet for myself, and pour myself a cup of coffee.

"I didn't know what you liked, so I ordered a selection from the breakfast menu." I smile as she relaxes further.

"That's very profligate of you," she mumbles and I agree with her reluctantly. She pulls the plate of pancakes towards her and takes her share, adding to it some eggs and bacon before drenching the entire lot in maple syrup.

"Tea?"

"Yes, please."

I push the teapot of hot water in her direction and she notices the Twinings label, smiling gently. I don't want it to seem like I put too much thought into this, and quickly change the subject. "Your hair's very damp."

"I couldn't find the hairdryer." I highly doubt that. Otherwise, she didn't look very hard. "Thank you for organising the clothes."

I appreciate her thanks, tell her how good the clothes suit her, and then she offers to pay for them. I pause, a spoonful of egg halfway to my mouth. "Anastasia, trust me, I can afford it."

"That's not the point. Why should you buy these for me?"

"Because I can."

"Just because you can doesn't mean you should." I'm unsure as to what to say. No woman has ever questioned the gifts I've bought for her. Most welcome them. Others just accept them as part of the package. Nobody wants to hand them back, or give me the money for them. She's such a mystery - such a strange phenomenon to me. Her voice lowers further, and she looks the most hesitant I've ever seen her. "Why did you send me the books, Christian?"

I place my cutlery down on the table and regard her for a second, wondering how to respond. I had a few options here; A) lie straight out and say I found them and thought she might appreciate them. B) Explain how drawn I am to her, and that I thought these books would win her affection. C) Tell the truth. Her blue eyes bore into me, exposing me right through to the bone, and I started slowly.

"Well, when you were nearly run over by the cyclist - and I was holding you and you were looking up at me - all 'kiss me, kiss me, Christian' - I felt I owed you an apology, and a warning. I'm not a hearts and flowers kind of man. I don't do romance. My tastes are very singular. You should steer clear of me." I risk a glance and she swallows hard. I feel the tension between us crackling in the air. "There's something about you, though, and I'm finding it impossible to stay away. But I think you've figured that out already."

Her eyes widen momentarily, and she stops eating. She places her cutlery down too, and doesn't say a word for the longest time.

"Then don't."

Two words. Two _fucking_ words, and I'm fantasising about pulling her from her chair and taking her across the breakfast table. I gasp and shake my head. "You don't know what you're saying."

"Enlighten me, then."

I open my mouth to do just that, and stop myself. How do I explain what I want from her over my omelet, and her bacon? I imagine her reaction not exactly being pretty. If she reacts badly, she could go home and tell Kate, and Elliot.

"You're not celibate then?"

She pulls me from my thoughts with a laugh. "No, Anastasia. I'm not celibate." Her flush creeps up her neck, and highlights her cheeks. "What are your plans for the next few days?"

"I'm working today, from midday." She stiffens. "What is the time?"

"It's just after ten, you've plenty of time. What about tomorrow?"

"Kate and I are going to start packing. We're moving to Seattle next weekend, and I'm working at Clayton's all this week."

I fail to hide my surprise. "You have a place in Seattle already?"

"Yes."

"Where?"

"I can't remember the address. It's in the Pike Market District."

I smile widely. _That will be handy._ "Not far from me. So what are you going to do for work in Seattle?"

She shrugs, noncomittally. "I've applied for some internships. I'm waiting to hear."

"Have you applied to my company as I suggested?"

Her flush returns for the umpteenth time this morning. "Um, no."

"And what's wrong with my company?" I try for mock hurt.

She smirks. "Your company, or your _company?_"

I bite my lip to hide my smile, but it leaks out anyways. This teasing, fun side to her is definitely attractive. "Are you smirking at me, Miss Steele?" Anastasia bites her bottom lip, looking down at the table. "I'd like to bite that lip," I whisper unintentionally. She gasps and glances up unwillingly, and her eyes bore into me.

"Why don't you?" Christ, this girl is a mass of contradictions. Blushing at everything, and then coming on to me like crazy.

"Because I'm not going to touch you Anastasia - not until I have your written consent to do so."

Her eyebrows knit together. "What does that mean?"

"Exactly what I say," and then with a sigh, I shake my head and realise I'm hedging around the conversation. "I need to show you, Anastasia. What time do you finish work at this evening?"

"About eight." _Hmm .. we could go by helicopter. Who knows, if everything works itself out, she could stay the night. _I'm surprised by how much I want that.

"Well, we could go to Seattle this evening ... or next Saturday for dinner at my place, and I'll acquaint you with the facts then. The choice is yours."

Her bottom lip juts out. "Why can't you tell me now?"

"Because I'm enjoying my breakfast and your company. Once you're enlightened, you probably won't want to see me again."

I watch her mind churn on that one. Watch her expression go from mildly scared, to curious, to downright confused. And then her omnipresent blush creeps up again, and I smile at it's familiarity. She meets my gaze with a hardened resolve.

"Tonight."

"Like Eve, you're so quick to eat from the tree of knowledge." Had she never heard of the term, 'ignorance is bliss'? Well she would certainly know it by tonight. Pulling up my cellphone, I hit speed dial and Taylor answers after only one ring.

"Taylor, I'm going to need Charlie Tango." I watch the confusion flit across her face once more, and Taylor asks what time I'll need her from. "From Portland, at say twenty-thirty." Taylor repeats my instructions back to me, but as I watch Anastasia squirm in her seat, I realise that she may not want to stay. "Standby at Escala ... all night."

I continue the conversation, sorting the particulars with Taylor before he confirms it's been organised, and we hang up. The remainder of our breakfast is mostly conversation on our plans for tonight. Anastasia seems eager, squirming around in her seat like a child, not being able to eat. I glance down at her plate, and see the amount of food sitting there. Something uncomfortable stirs inside me.

"Eat." She looks puzzled by my sharp tone. "Anastasia, I have an issue with wasted food ... eat."

Anastasia's gaze shifts towards the contents laid out upon the table, and I realise she's misunderstood me. "I can't eat all this."

"Eat what's on your plate. If you'd eaten properly yesterday, you wouldn't be here, and I wouldn't be declaring my hand so soon."

Turning back to her food, she chews slowly and uncomfortably, and for what feels like the umpteenth time since I met her, I want to smack myself. There is rarely an occasion where I've said something and immediately want to take it back, but when she looks at me like she is right now, I can't help but feel regret. It's an emotion I'm not used to.

"Good girl. I'll take you home when you've dried your hair. I don't want you getting ill." She bites that lip again, but says nothing, just places her cutlery down on her empty plate and stands. She's almost halfway to the room when she turns, a challenge in her eyes.

"Where did you sleep last night?"

I pause in my reading of the newspaper and meet her gaze, daring her to comment when I answer her. "In my bed."

"Oh." Her cheeks flame.

I smile slowly. "Yes. It was quite a novelty for me too."

"Not having ... sex?" She swallows as if she's been holding that sentence in since she met me.

"No." _Oh no, I've had sex in a bed. _A memory crawls from the back of my mind, Elena handcuffing me to the headboard, not being able to move, the feeling so alien and awful, but so arousing all at once. The confusion. The turmoil in my mind ... "Sleeping with someone."

She nods once, totally and completely bewildered, and turns on her heel back towards the bedroom. I watch her go, with a rising sense of panic. Where are all these random memories escaping from? I swear she brings them out of me. I haven't thought of that first night with Elena almsot since it happened. I can only remember the war that went on in my head. Wondering if this was wrong, or if I was wrong for thinking it was wrong. The physical pain of someone touching me, the emotional pain of wondering how screwed up I was to enjoy this.

My phone ringing interrupts me from my thoughts abruptly - and not entirely unwelcome. It's Ros, and as I launch into details of our new navy yard build, I realise I can't shake the memories like normal. They've crawled out, and once they have, they're impossible to be put back. I consider making the good doc my next phonecall.

"They arrive in Darfur on ... the 4th August. We've got a great price on material ... everything's set up for you to give the go ahead..."

I nod, still distracted. "Okay, let's do it. Keep me abreast of progress." I hang up the phone as I spot Anastasia standing in the doorway. Her long, brown hair is now dried and tied in a ponytail that flicks over her shoulder. She has a bag of her clothes in her hand, and an almost guilty look on her face. I want to ask her why, but think better of it.

"Ready to go?" When she nods, I grab my car keys and a jacket, and head out. She smells amazing. Maybe it's her shampoo, I think idly as we stand and wait for the elevator. She's so close that I can feel the heat coming from her body, and suddenly .. I realise I'm forgetting my past right before my eyes, she's so distracting.

The elevator arrives with a small _ding_ and the doors open. No couple making out this time, just the two of us, riding down in silence. I watch the floors, feel the electricity buzz between us, but it isn't until I see her glance at me, her lip caught between her teeth that I lose that precious self-control I've been grasping at since I saw her.

"Oh, fuck the paperwork," I growl as I grab for her. She's shocked, takes a moment to recover but then she drops her bags to the floor of the elevator with a quiet thud, and suddenly, she's kissing me back with as much fervour. I grab her hands to prevent her from touching me, certain that I wouldn't be able to handle it, and pin them above her head as my lips clash against hers once more. She whimpers slightly, and fuck, if it doesn't almost kill me. I grab her long hair and give it a sharp tug, and she gasps, allowing my tongue the entry it's been seeking. She tastes like that tea she drinks and .. mint?

I practically lose it when I feel her tongue begin to stroke against mine, totally hesitant and unsure, but oh, so good. And it's all sensation after that. Our lips clashing, tongues moving against one another. I can feel every curve of her body against mine, my dick rubbing against the zip of my pants is the most excruciating torture I've ever experienced, and yet, I'm able to pull away, glancing quickly over at the number of floor we're currently on.

"You, are, so, sweet," I mumble against her lips once more, before stepping back and leaving her against the wall. She looks bereft, and I can sympathise with her, as I attempt to catch my breath. _Shit._ I shouldn't have done that. The doors open on the fifth floor and three men get on with us, each wearing expensive suits. We move further towards the back to allow them in, and I catch Anastasia glancing at me. I let out a breath and she smirks.

The men exit on the second floor - the conference rooms, I imagine. And before the elevator stops once more, I turn to her. "You've brushed your teeth."

She grins. "I used your toothbrush."

I don't know whether to be shocked, repulsed or impressed. And I can't tell whether or not she's kidding. My mind conjurs an image of her being spanked across my knee for that, and I tighten everywhere. "Oh, Anastasia Steele, what am I going to do with you?"

The doors open on the ground floor and I grab her hand, dragging her across the hotel lobby until we reach the front door and exit into the sunshine. I glance at her and smile. Somehow, this has just gotten a whole lot more interesting...


End file.
